


The Old Crow's Departure

by FanficsbyVe



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the life of Eileen the Crow as she finally retires as a Hunter of Hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Crow's Departure

The shadows cast long tonight. The woman realizes this, grimly so, as she limps through the dark maze of streets. Coffins line the porches and the heavy, rusty chains that hold them shut rattle menacingly. Behind the heavy oaken doors of darkened houses, sobbing can be heard, as well as demented laughter, drunken babbling and sometimes even the animalistic noises mirroring the ones in the streets. It chills the blood, yet seems so apt. A twisted requiem for a city in its dying throes. 

Eileen the Crow knows she has long overstayed her welcome. Not surprising, in an eldritch city already so wary of strangers. Even so, she felt part of this place. Part of its very foundation. She has been a Hunter since the very first time the moon drew near, the very first night that the beasts crept into the nights of Yharnam.

She was a different woman when she first arrived in the city of blood ministration. She was still known as Eniola Adu back then, her birth name that was given to her by her Yoruba parents. She had been drawn by strange tales of blood magic as told by missionaries who toiled fruitlessly to change local customs and faith, by tales of healing powers far greater than her tribe’s shaman. She had always been a curious young mind, attracted to the unknown, and as soon as she had come of age, she had set out from her homeland to discover whether the stories held any merit.

With this in mind, she had set out to Europe. It meant having to travel with the missionaries, but that mattered little to her. She crafted a well-thought out lie about wanting to see a world as governed by their god and they had easily been baited by the promise of a conversion. They helped her arrange her traveling papers, which she insisted on paying herself, and got her on the boat off the continent. Their witnessing went into one ear and out the other after that and while she felt bad about deceiving some genuinely well-meaning people, she knew it was the only way to reach this town of legend. 

So she hid her native charm dedicated to the Orisha Babalú-Ayé, given by her family to protect her, and played along for the duration of the trip. It was there that she first started using the name she is now known by. “Eileen”. It had been the name the missionaries she had traveled with gave her, for her own was too complicated for them to pronounce. It is the gift from them that she is grateful for until this day. 

She had felt some guilt about leaving them as soon as they had reached English soil. Of course, she had left a letter explaining her actions, but she knew the forgiveness of their god likely didn’t cover an interest in pagan practices. Even so, she had made up her mind and commenced her journey to Yharnam without looking back.

It had not always been easy. Her appearance made her stick out like a sore thumb amidst all the pale Europeans. She didn’t always enjoy much respect. Many people thought they could mock her, demean her or take advantage of her. She often had to fight, both with words and with her fists, as she progressed ever so slowly to the east, to the city of blood-healing. 

Yet the city, she found out, wasn’t any better. Yharnam was not a kind place to foreigners. Her dark skin immediately singled her out, long before she ever spoke or acted. She still winces, thinking about the slurs she has withstood her entire life here. For a town that claimed to want to reach out and save people, it was quick to treat the likes of her as unwanted scum. 

The institution of Blood Ministration was no different. When she had applied as an acolyte, she was turned down every time. The reasons were different with each clergyman. Most claimed they already had enough acolytes, even when she later found out they had none. Some said she wasn’t what they were looking for. Several claimed her blood rendered her unsuitable. One even claimed someone like her might not fully convey the love and charity of the Great Ones to their followers. They themselves thought their lies were very convincing, but Eileen knew the truth. They looked down on a dark-skinned foreigner same as everyone else.

The constant rejection had reduced her to roaming the streets and scraping to get by. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to sell her body, but she had not been above stealing, extorting and the occasional assault and murder, particularly in self-defense. For a while, she even ran orders for bootlegged alcohol by a local gang and claimed protection money on their behalf. It allowed her to make ends meet, but of course, it also put her on the wrong side of the law. 

It was there, on the seamy side of society, that she learned how to survive and forged the skills she has now. In the underbelly of Yharnam, she was rarely the biggest or strongest and had to rely on her speed, cunning and ferocity to win her battles. She happened to have those in spades and employed them against thug and lawman alike, evading and silencing them as she went. Despite gaining a few cuts and bruises along the way, she gradually clawed herself to the top of the food chain.

It was by no means easy. Even the underworld wasn’t very accepting of any woman who worked outside a brothel, much less one who didn’t fit their definition of attractive or even a human being. She had endured every slur there was, racial, gender-based and even general ones, but always made sure she walked away with a trophy of teeth from the offending mouth. Her viciousness became her calling card and in time, the mockery made way for grudging respect.

She had to admit she even felt a twinge of pride when she started gain something akin to notoriety. The Ripper of Old Yharnam, they would call her and often, this name would be spoken in a hushed whisper. She exploited her infamy for all it was worth using it to manipulate, intimidate and bribe her way through the criminal world. After a while, coin flowed more easily and she quite enjoyed the fruit of her labors.

When the scourge of beasts initially broke out in Old Yharnam, it mattered little to her. She held very little love for the general populace of the city. She couldn’t care less what kind of strange things they were up to that turned them into these monsters. If anything, they made her work remarkably easier. She was one of the few people in this milieu of muscle-bound knuckleheads quick and agile enough to outrun the beasts and take them out. That left everyone else trailing behind her, waiting to get eaten, and staying alive became that much simpler.

In time, however, she noticed that the scourge became worse. What started with a few people going crazy and turning into hairy fiends soon became an epidemic. Evading the beasts became more difficult because of their sheer numbers and even she occasionally had to break a sweat in doing so.

Yet it hadn’t been the beasts that doomed her in the end. It had been her own arrogance. As time went by and she continued to evade police, she became cocky and her overconfidence became her downfall. During the simplest booze run, which were ever declining as the Healing Church rose to power, she managed to get clipped by a beast that turned out much faster and smarter than its size suggested. It managed to inflict some serious, heavily bleeding wounds on her that slowed her down significantly.

That in itself hadn’t been enough to down her. It was rather the constables in that area. A few perceptive ones had finally caught onto her activities and patterns and had gradually established a fair prediction of her movements. They had been waiting on one of her escape routes and already injured, she had been unable to put up much of a fight.

The Yharnam Gaol was easily worse than the seedy districts. The cells were cold and wet with rats scurrying behind the walls. All she got to eat was moldy bread and boiled water and she could already see some of the more corrupt constables stare at her suggestively. She already dreaded her stay here, especially if it was going to end at either the workhouse or the gallows. In fact, seeing her position and appearance, the latter was far more likely.

A day into imprisonment, however, she suddenly found a prison guard opening her door. He stated that a gentleman had come in to pay her bail and was waiting for her in one of the holding rooms. He had escorted her over and then left her alone with a man she had never seen before. 

The man introduced himself as Gehrman and asked if she was indeed the Ripper of Yharnam. Having already had her fair share of indecent proposals from Yharnam’s greatest hypocrites, she had glared at him. She had confirmed his question and snarked that she wasn’t planning to use that fame for a more “physical” career, so he might as well get his money back and leave her here. 

Much to her surprise, however, he immediately denied having any such plans for her. He explained that he was a hunter of beasts and a close friend of Vicar Laurence of the Healing Church and Provost Willem of Byrgenwerth. That he and his apprentice Ludwig had recently set up a workshop on behalf of the Healing Church, to help combat the scourge sweeping through Yharnam. They needed more recruits and after so many stories about a cunning, swift African woman dominating Old Yharnam, he figured she might be what they needed.

Then and there, seeing her skeptical expression, he made her an offer. She could stay here in jail or he could have her sentence commuted to becoming a hunter in service of the Healing Church. She wisely chose the latter. 

A few hours later, she had been in front of the workshop and that same afternoon, she was enrolled in a crash course in hunting beasts. That same night, she went out to hunt with Gehrman and Ludwig. She slew many beasts that first night and while she messed up every now and then, Gehrman seemed pleased. At sunrise, as the streets were cleared, he told her she was a natural and that he was happy to have her alongside him.

Even now, she recalls being surprised at him saying that. What stunned her even more was that he was utterly genuine. It caught her off guard. Ever since she came to Europe, people had despised her and marginalized her. Even her cohorts in the criminal world seemed to tolerate her, but nothing more. Yet here were people truly showing their appreciation for her presence and skills, treating her like one of their own. It was completely new and she found she liked it. 

In time, she found she liked her new life as a Hunter as well. She took extreme pride in her skills of combating the beasts, alone or as part of a team. For once, she was truly contributing to Yharnam, earning her keep in an honest way. It had been a better life than the one she had led in the city’s underworld and she embraced it heartily.

In time, more people joined the workshop. Some came out of a sense of duty, but most came for glory and adventure. Few truly had potential or made it past their first night, but those who did, like Djura, Gascoigne, Henryk and Lady Maria of Cainhurst, were the ones she grew close with. As time went on, they grew into a tight-knit group, adept at slaying the beasts of Yharnam while training others to do the same. Eileen truly considered these people her family as well her comrades and some part of her figured this was the life for her until retirement.

Alas, she now understands how horribly naïve she had been to think that possible. She had not yet realized she was dealing with something beyond humanity, something that rendered any sense of morality meaningless. Nothing good ever lasted, especially not in a cursed city.

As time went on, Eileen noticed that there were cracks forming in their little Hunter community. Initially, they had been able to shrug off the casualties of aspiring Hunters as talentless and reckless fools causing their own demise. Yet as time went by, the bodies stacked on rapidly and the beasts seemed to become stronger every night. Nearly every night, they had write condolences letters and were confronted with grieving loved ones demanding an explanation. It started to wear on her more than it should and at times, she found herself unable to sleep over the rising death toll. 

Then there were the Hunters themselves. As the war on the scourge became more brutal, she could see them crack. Djura, a Powder Keg Hunter now, seemed wrought with guilt to the point it paralyzed him. Ludwig turned to Vicar Laurence and the Healing Church to bolster his faith. Gascoigne and Henryk lost themselves to experiments with the beast’s blood. Gehrman seemed to become madly obsessed with Maria, who seemed unaware of her mentor’s sickening advances. 

That last one nearly caused her to break as well. She recalls walking in on him in an unguarded moment, only to come face to face with the most disturbing thing she had seen outside of Yharnam’s beasts. The First Hunter was dressing a life-sized, anatomically correct doll who perfectly resembled Maria. He was dressing it in plain, ladylike housewife clothes, the kind she knew Maria would never wear, and she swore he was talking to the thing. She had not been able to suppress her disgust and had made her presence known, calling him out for his perversion and asking if he had gone mad. 

This had turned into a shouting match with Gehrman telling her that it wasn’t her business and threatening to expel her from the Hunters. In the end, she had cursed him and left. Despite his threats, she had then informed Maria of what she had seen, but she had never felt more powerless when her fellow Huntress refused to believe her and called her a liar to her face. Then and there, she knew things were changing for the worse and it was only a matter of time before everything would shatter completely.

When it finally did, it was over the worst possible thing. Even she remembers the day Maria took her own life. How they had found her at the clocktower of the Healing Church, with her throat slashed and a goblet of poison consumed. She was clutching a picture of all of them between her dead, stiff fingers. She had left a note, rambling scribbles about a secret from the ocean and a cursed hamlet. Eileen recalled repeatedly asking Gehrman if he knew what that meant, but he refused to tell her and never did.

That night, Eileen and Gehrman, as well as the other Hunters, were united mourning, all strife temporarily forgotten due to the loss of their friend. They buried her at the Workshop like she would've wanted, always quick to point out she couldn't stand the pomp of a Cainhurst funeral. They all wept then, confronted with the terrible truth. The death of Maria told them the one thing they couldn't deny; that the Hunt was getting to them all. It also told everyone else they could no longer continue the way they did before. This task was too much to bear on their own.

The Hunters, previously a little society on its own, needed help and funding to maintain itself. As time went by, however, the group was divided on how this should be achieved. Ludwig argued they should fully affiliate with the Healing Church, be open with the public and reap the benefit of their generosity and knowledge. Gehrman, on the other hand, had a much bolder designs. While still remaining close with Laurence, he figured the Church was prone to corruption and hated to be dependent on anyone’s charity. He suggested they should bypass the Church entirely and try and gain help from the Great Ones themselves. 

Then and there, a rift started to form between mentor and student. Ludwig deemed Gehrman a heretic and a fool for his ideas. Gehrman deemed Ludwig a zealot and a lickspittle of the Church. Gehrman’s experiments with the transmundane yielded little but more victims. Mobs assembled by Ludwig were either infected or quickly killed. Neither of the men was willing to seek a compromise and in time, people began to take sides while the body count increased.

Everything finally culminated when the scourge took over all of Old Yharnam. Hunters were torn apart left and right and beasts were overrunning the district. Even the most skilled hunters could no longer hold back the tide and in the end, the Church made a gruesome decision. They sealed themselves up in the Cathedral Ward and ordered the Powder Kegs to burn it Old Yharnam to the ground. 

Then and there, the battle lines were drawn. Amidst anger and outrage, the Hunters broke apart. Ludwig left with Gascoigne and Henryk, ready to start their new career in employ of the Healing Church. Gehrman cursed them as they did, calling them disgusting cowards who left him just as Maria did. His vitriol against Maria was particularly concerning. He called her a “manipulative black widow”, an “ungrateful whore”, who had betrayed him by taking her own life to escape what they had wrought. Even if the dark past they'd shared was unknown to her, Eileen had known the true dark intentions that lurked behind such undeserved accusations and she had fought not walk up, spit him in the face and call him out for the pig he was.

In spite of this, she remained at his side, along with Djura who was desperate to break away from the Powder Kegs. At that point, it had nothing to do with loyalty anymore. It was simply that Gehrman was the devil she knew and she absolutely no longer trusted the Church. Besides, she had originally come to Yharnam to learn blood magic and if Gehrman’s plans worked out, that was exactly what she would do.

The plan had been simple in theory, especially when Laurence gave his blessing. All they had to do was steal an umbilical cord of the Vilebloods, a heretical sect who broke away from the Church and whose Queen was said to have produced a Great One’s stillborn offspring, and use it in a ritual to have an audience with a Great One. The stealing was easy enough. As a former thief, she effortlessly managed to infiltrate into Cainhurst and get what they needed. What was more daunting was performing the ritual and do it before the Church caught onto their theft and apprehended them. After all, despite their friendship, she doubted the Vicar would cover for them.

The ritual had been one of the most horrific things she had ever experienced. For a moment, she saw beyond the veil. She saw the world for what it was. A tiny speck in an endless galaxy, utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things. A lowly planet surrounded by beings that were far beyond them and could destroy them without second thought. She had only seen a glimpse of that terrible truth and even now, she knows she never wants to see it again.

It had been after this parade of horrors that she had first seen it. Flora, the Moon Presence. A Great One sympathetic to their pleas, but not less terrifying. The eldritch being had descended on Gehrman, wrapping him up in tentacles as a strange bonding ritual was taking place. She looked away as it tore off Gehrman’s left leg and blocked out the screams, only for her and Djura to do the same as the being then transferred its now mixed blood to them. In the throws of agony, she only barely noticed how a new world started forming around them. The retreat in another realm, known as the Hunter’s Dream.

The horror of the ritual was quickly forgotten when the payoff became clear. Eileen found herself enchanted by this new realm at first. She couldn’t help but revel in her newfound strength and speed, as well as the new blood magic that was at her disposal. The Moon Presence taught them many things, about the Great Ones and Blood Gems, revealing the scourge of beast for the otherworldly affliction it was. Her eyes were opened and traveling between this world and the waking one, free from death, she was confident she and her cohorts could defeat the plague once and for all.

From their new stronghold beyond the human plane, they started to recruit. It wasn’t hard. Hunters came flocking to the promise of glory and adventure and not least of all, the sick came from the promise of a cure just like they did with the Healing Church. The Hunter’s Dream kept the casualty rate low and after a Hunter had served his or her purpose, they could simply be cut from the Dream. They could go pursue life in the waking world once more, with power, health and knowledge as their reward. It was a brilliant system and she, like Gehrman and Djura, were soon drunk on their success.

Yet even dreams did not stay beautiful forever. The first flaws appeared very soon, within seconds of creation, when she discovered an unusual creature inside the Hunter’s Dream. Gehrman’s Doll, that cursed lifelike effigy of Maria, was there too. Even worse, it seemed to be…alive in some way. It walked and talked, ever submissive and never questioning, rushing to cater to their needs. Something told her once again that this creature’s behavior was part of Gehrman’s design, his perfect image of Maria, and for the longest time, she couldn’t even bear looking at it.

Also, it soon became clear not everyone took existing in the Hunter’s Dream well. As time went by, she encountered numerous Hunters looking for a way out beyond the scythe, unable to cope with their multiple deaths in the waking world. Too many times, she saw them trying to jump off ledges or use their own weapons to attempt suicide. Others refused to go on once they learned the true nature of the beasts or the Great Ones, being reduced to nothing but shells. Their insanity ate at her and the optimism she had once felt slipped a little with every afflicted Hunter she met.

In time, the Dream changed everyone beyond recognition. She still recalls the day when Djura begged to be cut from the Dream. Apparently, the sense of guilt that began at the burning of Yharnam was finally too much to bear. He insisted that he did not want this life anymore and that surely, his mind would perish if he stayed here. There was no changing his mind and as his mania grew worse every day, Gehrman soon had no choice but to let him wake.

It should have been a tearful goodbye, but she noticed her former mentor showed no emotion. In fact, she was certain he called Djura a coward behind her back and took offense at his decision to leave. He thought him a sentimental fool, an unfit man for the job if he started to feel sympathy took precedence over the survival and elevation of mankind. He had sacrificed too much; it was nothing less than reasonable to accept the same of others.

Indeed, it seemed the Hunter’s Dream even ate away at the charm and brilliance of her mentor. While initially proud to have conjured the Dream, he slowly started to realize just how entrenched he was. He was one of the cogs that kept it going, the mind to the Moon Presence’s heart. He was stuck, unable to die, forever trapped to continue his task as keeper. 

This sense of despair was soon taken out on others. The Doll, whose nature had initially delighted him, quickly took the brunt of his powerless rage. He could no longer tolerate her near him and would physically and verbally abuse her if she came near him. He called her useless, a poor imitation of a human, and threatened her to stay away from him as it disgusted him to look upon her. Not knowing any better, the creature obliged to his wishes without ever once being upset and while Eileen had never held any love for this creation of the Dream, even she couldn’t help but feel pity for her. 

She herself was not free from harm either. Gehrman berated her for everything she did. Where he had previously been complimentary of her skills, he now accused her of losing her edge and conspiring against him when she spoke out against his abuse of the Doll. He told her she had no right to criticize him, telling her she would have been a warden’s plaything in prison until hanged hadn’t he saved her back then. She was thankless scum in his eyes, only here because he saw fit to give her a chance and if she didn’t like the Hunter’s Dream anymore, he’d only be glad to cut her out of it.

For the longest time, she hadn’t yielded under that threat. Perhaps it was lingering loyalty or appreciation for a past between them that was genuinely good. Perhaps it was because she knew her presence tormented him and she wanted to milk it for all it was worth. Either way, she stayed, lashing out at him as viciously as he did at her and functioning as the only conscience he still had.

Still, in the end, she realized that things would not get better. Gehrman was deteriorating swiftly and she could feel her own sanity slip with every return to the Hunter’s Dream. In time, she started to realize that maybe her mentor held the threat over her head precisely to make her stay. To still have a regular around from his old life, to whom it mattered that she was treated badly. When she realized this, all bets were off and the next time they argued, she had willingly accepted his offer. 

She still remembers the look of horror on his face as she did. She had smirked and told him she was sick of being here with him. That she was looking forward to returning to Yharnam and being with Ludwig, Henryk, Djura, Maria and Gascoigne again. She had sweetened the pot even more by calling him a coward, saying that if he planned to threaten her, he should at least go through with it. That had been all it had taken and she had embraced the sweet cool blade of his scythe, finally cut loose from the Dream. 

Yet the Yharnam she returned to, permanently this time, was not the same city she remembered. Beasts were still running wild and Hunters were going insane alongside them. While Gascoigne and Henryk were glad to see her, most of her friends had changed. Ludwig had gone missing a long time ago, mad and addled with beast blood. Djura had holed up in Old Yharnam, now protecting the beasts he had once tried to kill as a Powder Keg. And Maria's grave lay long forgotten. It was a miserable state of affairs she returned to and she found she didn’t like it.

She turned down Henryk and Gascoigne’s offer to join the Healing Church. By now, she had more than enough of her fill when it came to their dark practices. Still, she refused to give up her calling as a Hunter at this point. How could she, if the city she had sacrificed so much for was ending up like this? 

For a while, she had roamed around aimlessly. She felt uncomfortable relying on the generosity of Gascoigne, who now had a wife and two daughters to take care of, or to stay with an ever bitterer Henryk. She had soon returned to petty thievery to feed herself, though the spoils were nowhere near as good as they used to be with the plague taking over. She was back at the bottom and once again, without a true goal. 

Until one night, she came across a woman dressed in crow feathers stalking Central Yharnam. Curiously, she had approached and after convincing the easily spooked female that she wasn’t a threat, they had talked. She had been surprised to see that she was a foreigner like herself and an older woman at that. 

When asked about the strange clothes, she explained that she was a Hunter of Hunters, a person independent of the Church who took down rogue Hunters who had gone mad and were a danger to the public. Her crow feathers were meant to evoke sky burial, the way they put the dead to rest in her home country of Bhutan. A return to the elements as opposed to burial in Yharnam’s cursed earth. She had gathered a small band of disillusioned Hunters, some having abandoned the Hunter’s Dream, willing to join her in this venture. She then asked if she were perhaps interested and once again with nowhere else to go, Eileen had accepted.

Until tonight, this was the task she carried out for several decades. To kill the Hunters that became as much a threat as the beasts. She was once again one of the best at what she did, enough that when her mentor Dorji became too old, she took over the role as leader of their little coven. She and her recruits brought slaughter to the lost Hunters and saved many citizens in the process.

She can’t say she didn’t find some manner of peace in that. Some sense of purpose and a way to cling to her sanity. It had her fare better than most of her former comrades, at least.

In time, all of her old friends succumbed to the curse of Yharnam. Maria lay forever forgotten, even by her friends. Djura became a recluse, never again venturing outside of Old Yharnam and killing any Hunter that passed through. Ludwig succumbed to the beast blood, hiding away and vanishing as his body rapidly deformed. 

This night, the last of her cohorts perished. Gascoigne finally turned into a beast himself and was slain by a young Hunter fresh from the Hunter’s Dream. Henryk went mad and she had to put him down herself with help of that same person. It is truly the end of an era and at this point, she can no longer muster the strength to feel sad.

This Hunt, she knows, is her last. She is too old to continue her task and her body grows too weak. She nearly lost her life several times this night, to people half as young and not as half as skilled as her. She could no longer even put down one of her pupils, a once promising young man who had since sworn allegiance to Cainhurst, without assistance of the wide-eyed youth. She saw no other option but to give him her badge and let him take it from there, finally passing the torch and at last acknowledging that she was one of the few Hunters that would truly retire due to old age. 

Why her though?

Even now, alone and wounded within the maze of a forsaken city, she cannot help but wonder. Why her? Why was she not consumed by this city and its eldritch madness? Why was she, of all her friends and Hunters who were probably stronger and quicker than her, spared? 

She doesn’t know and doubts she ever will. It is possible she stayed away from too much of the Old Blood in her veins. Perhaps she kept her wits because she always remained skeptical and never trusted anyone more than she should. Maybe she was simply not interesting enough for the Great Ones to bother with. Or, however unlikely, it could be that there were always people to help her at the right moment and ensured her survival. Those are all guesses, but in the end, she knows it matters little which are correct. 

By now, she can see the edge of town. A sense of relief goes through her. She only has to walk out of here, towards the wide open landscape and hail a coach at the end of town. She knows there are still hamlets outside of the city that are untouched by the Healing Church. She can go there and get proper medical help, the help that doesn’t involve supernatural blood. Where she will go after that, she can’t say, but away from Yharnam’s direct vicinity sounds fine.

She leans against a wall, catching her breath. Above her, a large moon shines brightly. She basks in its light and she finds a hand clasping around a small charm on her neck. It is the pendant she took with her from her homeland, the one her Yoruba parents said would ward her from evil, dedicated to one of their primary deities. 

Babalú-Ayé. The Orisha of infectious diseases and healing. 

She smiles as she looks at it. She hasn’t yet forgotten home. She doesn’t know if she will ever see Africa again, but it feels good to have time to look upon this little piece of familiarity once more. There is still a world beyond Yharnam, even for something like her, and for now that’s enough.

She walks up to one of the waiting coaches and hands the driver money. He thankfully doesn’t question her state and lets her get in. As the horses start moving, she looks out the window and the dark city slowly becomes smaller as they move further away from it.

It is only then and there that she feels sadness and happiness at once. Sadness for her homeland, her old comrades and for the goal she had seemingly fought for in vain. Yet also happiness, for the fact she managed to survive, have a plentiful life ahead of her and may someday, in her own way, succeed in breaking the cycle. 

This revelation is bittersweet, but she knows she could only dream so long. Her days as a Hunter, as a Hunter of Hunters, are over. It is time to stop the nightmare and, at last, wake up.


End file.
